The Freshman Tournament was only ten days away, and Aether Academy felt like a living, breathing beast preparing for battle.
Every morning the training fields rang with the clash of magic and claw. Fire met ice, wind wrestled shadow, earth clashed against lightning. Students pushed their bonds to the limit, trying to reach that elusive state the professors called True Resonance—the moment when human and pet stopped merely cooperating and began moving as a single will with two bodies.
Elara and Drakon were already frighteningly close to it.
During one early session, Professor Veyra—an ex-mercenary with a scar running from eyebrow to jaw and a battle-scarred thunder hawk named Stormclaw—had them run a paired obstacle course. Floating platforms, spinning blades of light, walls of shifting flame.
"Faster!" Veyra barked. "You're not dancing—you're fighting for your lives!"
Elara leaped onto Drakon's back mid-stride. The moment her palms pressed against his warm scales, something clicked deeper than before. She didn't need to shout commands. She didn't even need to think them clearly.
Drakon banked left before she consciously decided to dodge the incoming flame wall. His wings snapped open wider exactly when she wanted more lift. A pulse of verdant energy flowed from him into her arms; she thrust both hands forward and a spiraling vine shield erupted just in time to deflect a barrage of ice shards thrown by another student's frost wolf.
They cleared the course in record time.
The field went quiet for a heartbeat.
Then Jax let out a long whistle. "Okay. That was unfair."
Seraphina crossed her arms, her flame tiger sitting beside her with ears flattened in clear irritation. "They're cheating with that dragon cheat code."
"It's not cheating," Professor Veyra said dryly. "It's resonance. Something most of you won't touch until third year—if ever." She gave Elara a long, measuring look. "Again. This time blindfolded."
Elara swallowed. Drakon rumbled amusement in her mind. Trust me.
She tied the black cloth over her eyes.
The world became sound, vibration, scent, and the steady drum of Drakon's heart against her thighs.
They moved.
To the watching students it looked almost dreamlike: a girl blindfolded, riding a dragon that danced between death-traps without hesitation, without a single spoken word. Vines rose exactly where blades would have cut them. Wind shields bloomed the instant ice attacked. When a platform crumbled beneath them, Drakon twisted in mid-air and caught the falling section with his tail, flinging it back into place so Elara could leap to the next one.
When they finally landed—perfectly centered on the finish line—Elara tore off the blindfold.
Her hands were shaking. Not from fear.
From exhilaration.
Drakon lowered his head and bumped her shoulder gently. We are getting better.
Professor Veyra stared for a long moment before speaking. "You two are dangerous. Keep that under control."
But her tone held something dangerously close to pride.
Lunch was chaotic.
The great hall buzzed with tournament gossip. Betting pools had already formed. Most people were wagering on Seraphina or Prince Kairos. A few reckless souls had put coin on Jax "because he's sneaky." Almost no one had bet on Elara—until today.
She sat with Jax and a small but growing group of first-years who had started gravitating toward her after the blindfolded run. Luna sprawled under the table, happily gnawing on a mana-infused bone.
"So," Jax said around a mouthful of honey-glazed pheasant, "you planning to humiliate everyone or just quietly terrify them?"
Elara laughed despite herself. "I just want to survive the first round."
"Sure you do." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Word is they're changing the rules this year. Instead of individual duels in the opening bracket, they're doing paired battles for the first elimination round."
Elara froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. "Paired?"
"Yep. Two students, two pets. You have to fight as a team. No friendly fire protection either—collateral damage counts against you."
Her stomach twisted. She was good with Drakon. But trusting someone else's timing, someone else's pet, someone else's instincts?
"That's… going to be messy."
"Very." Jax grinned. "Which is why I'm asking now: want to team up?"
Before Elara could answer, a shadow fell across the table.
Prince Kairos stood there, Glacia perched regally on his shoulder like living ice sculpture. The phoenix's tail feathers trailed faint frost patterns in the air.
"Voss," he said. No greeting. No pleasantries.
Elara straightened. "Prince Kairos."
"Walk with me."
It wasn't a request.
Jax raised both eyebrows but said nothing as Elara stood. Drakon rose fluidly beside her, wings half-furled, watching Glacia with calm, predatory interest.
They walked out of the hall and onto one of the glass bridges connecting the central spire to the eastern dormitories. Below them, clouds drifted like slow rivers. The wind carried the distant cries of training wyverns.
Kairos stopped in the middle of the bridge.
"I need a partner for the opening round," he said without preamble.
Elara blinked. "You… what?"
"You heard me."
She almost laughed. "You have half the academy begging to team with you. Why me?"
"Because your dragon is the only pet here that can match Glacia in raw output without folding under pressure." He turned to face her fully. His eyes were winter-sharp. "And because you don't simper or beg for my attention. That makes you useful."
Elara felt heat rise in her cheeks—anger, embarrassment, something else she couldn't name.
"I'm not a tool."
"No," he agreed. "You're a wildcard. I prefer wildcards to predictable pawns."
Drakon shifted beside her. He speaks plainly. I respect that. But I do not trust him yet.
Elara crossed her arms. "And if I say no?"
"Then I choose someone else. Seraphina has already sent three messengers. She wants the prestige of fighting beside royalty." His lip curled faintly. "I'd rather not spend the next week listening to her monologue about her family's dueling lineage."
Despite herself, Elara snorted.
Kairos tilted his head. "Is that a yes?"
"It's a… maybe." She met his gaze. "I need to talk to Jax first. He asked me five minutes before you did."
Something flickered across Kairos's face—surprise, maybe irritation. It was gone in an instant.
"Fair," he said. "Decide by tomorrow night. After that I accept whoever is fastest."
He turned to leave.
"Wait," Elara called.
He paused.
"Why does this matter so much to you?" she asked. "You're already favored to win the whole thing. Why care about the first round?"
For a long moment he didn't answer.
Then, quietly: "Because someone is watching the tournament very closely. Someone who wants to see exactly how strong the new Verdant Dragon truly is."
He walked away, leaving frost flowers blooming along the railing where his hand had rested.
Elara stood there a long time, wind tugging at her hair.
He knows something, Drakon said.
"Yeah," she whispered. "He does."
That night, three things happened.
First: Jax found her in the library, dragged her to a quiet alcove, and kissed her.
It was sudden, warm, tasting faintly of honey and adrenaline. When he pulled back his eyes were bright and a little scared.
"I'm not asking you to choose me over the prince," he said quickly. "I just… wanted to do that before you decide. In case you pick him."
Elara's heart was hammering so loud she was sure he could hear it.
"I haven't decided anything yet," she managed.
"Good." He grinned shakily. "Then I still have a chance."
Second: Seraphina cornered her outside the dorms.
"Listen, village girl," the redhead said, voice low and dangerous. "If you team with Kairos, I will make the next three years of your life hell. If you team with Jax… maybe we can be friends. Maybe."
Elara lifted her chin. "I don't respond well to threats."
Seraphina smiled. It wasn't friendly. "Then respond to this: I know you're investigating the shadow curse. I know you saw something in the archives. And I know who else was there that night."
Elara's blood went cold.
Seraphina leaned in. "Choose wisely."
Third: just before dawn, Elara woke to Drakon's urgent nudge.
Look.
A single black feather lay on her windowsill.
It shimmered with corrupted magic—the same energy she had felt in the archives.
Tied to it was a small scroll.
She unrolled it with trembling fingers.
Seven words, written in jagged script:
"The dragon dies first. Then you."